


Queen of the Mountain

by shinkonokokoro



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remix fic, Avengers Remix Round 2</p>
<p>Tony needs some help, some advice on heroing. He gets a little more than anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enigma731](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/gifts).
  * Inspired by [King of the Mountain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/783028) by [enigma731](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731). 



 Tony supposes he surprises even himself when he goes to Natasha. (Maybe it makes sense. She's the one he's known the longest, on the team. It's not really a planned thing, save for that it really is and he knows nothing except that he knows exactly what he's doing.) He finds her in the gym and the words are out of his mouth before he really registers speaking them. But that's okay. She's not looking at him. Still flinging tiny knives with a precision that makes his balls hurt inexplicably. 'I need you to move to Malibu. Be my new head of security.' And when she doubts him, he says he's serious, and Tony realises it's true.

Of course it's then that she turns. Pins him with a look that says she's going to speak Latin at him again and walk out. But then it mellows, and she doesn't say anything. So Tony, of course, word vomits some shit about his latest life fiasco with the Mandarin.

But eventually, they get around to the point. 'I need you to fix me.' He knows she's done it before. Because he can't live one more day like this. This obsessive, control-freak paranoia. Tony can't take it. The impulse to build suits is strong still, his fingers twitching for the cool constant of metal in his hands. The whole blowing them up thing had been a poor decision on his part. Which is his real biography title: Poor Life Choices and Bad Impulse Control. (Though, of course, Tony hadn't really killed them all. He has reserves. Still.) But the desire to please Pepper had been stronger than his paranoia. Which is maybe saying something. Tony had seen it as a good thing. Now it just left him low.

Low with nightmares about a whole new slew of video quality dream sequences for his nighttime viewing pleasure. Pepper dying. Rhodey dying. Himself dying. In fun new ways! Now, he not only dies from sand and heat and and drowning and pain, but he dies from blood. Suffocating in it. Losing it. Drowning in it. From bombs, from Killian's hands, Maya's hands., from closing portals, twisted aliens, from monstrous gods, from drowning, from electrocution, on the operating table, from heart attacks and the slow asphyxiation of his heart being torn to pieces by the shrapnel he had removed.

He says none of this aloud. Instead, he succinctly summarises it with, “I'd like to be able to sleep through the night. I'd like to stop thinking about—things.”

Natasha sighs, and Tony can practically see the patience meter drop. “That's not how it works. You want to be a superhero? You want to be responsible for people's lives? Mortality is part of the deal. So are nightmares. If you ever stop having them, you should probably be concerned.”

Tony blinks. Of course. And this is why he'd gone to Natasha to fix him. This is why she's the superspy, and he's the 'Iron Man: yes; Tony Stark: no.' Faced with the reality of mortality, of course he breaks down, expecting the flash and pizazz of heroism, but no the darker side-effcts. So he laughs.

“What's so funny?” She seems like she knows the punchline already, but just needs the clarification that she's laughing at the right thing.

Tony clears his throat. “I just realised _you've_ been a hero for years now. Longer than I have. I never thought of that before,” he says, knowing she'll argue. The Avengers: the Daddy Issues and Terrible Self-Image club. It should be a thing.

“I'm not a hero,” Nat replies, predictably.

Tony lets it stand, however, toying with one of Tasha's knives that he'd appropriated a few minutes prior. “Fine.” Throws it. He knew it would miss, but Tony's pride still burns that he misses. Asks, “But maybe you could teach me how to use these things.” The metal alloy was pretty fantastic. He could do lots of things with something like that. Though... “And, you know, that sparring thing you do. It'll probably be a while before Happy's ready to pick that up again.” And it will work off some of his nervous energy. Give him some semblance of control over his own body. Help to guarantee that if he's ever caught without his suit again, he a. won't be completely useless and b. will be able to take charge in defending himself. Also, Tony's hoping that it will wear him out enough that, by the end of the day, Tony can sleep through the night.

“You're asking me to help you by kicking your ass?” she summarises, arching a brow. But Nat's thinking; Tony can tell. Judging him. No. Not judging, evaluating. Sizing him up. They're past the put of judgment now.

So it's not a 'no' then. “I guess I am,” he says, realising that's sort of what it's going to be for the first...eight hundred sessions. If it lasts that long. “Damn.”

But Tasha seems pleased. Smiles at him. And Tony doesn't feel terrified. He supposes everyone likes feeling useful. “Tomorrow at 0900. Don't be late, or I'll make it extra torture.”

“Sounds kinky. See you at 9:30.” Tony throws her a road grin and leaves, feeling lighter than he has in days. His fingers skate over the still-tender, still-healing scars from where the reactor was removed. He can do this.

He meets Nat at 9:10 the next morning. But he brings her the fancy, floofy coffee drink she secretly likes as bribery, so there's no torture. This time, she threatens. And then teaches him how to throw knives. Tony has a knack for it. And in a week's time, with his mathematical brains, he's actually pretty good. Hitting the target at least, eight times out of ten. Tasha seems impressed. So they move on to sparring, building on Tony's basic knowledge. And for the next month and a half, Tony goes to bed tired and sore. But he dreams less. He feels better rested. And he feels more accomplished. So Tony counts it a win.

Two months in, Tony realises that he and Natasha are, by all accounts, friends. He's learned to read her. Her carefully guarded mannerisms. Body language. Of course, part of that is her training. Tony finds it's incredibly useful in other areas of his life too.

Case in point: Board meeting. As the majority share-holder, Tony's got a right to be at important meetings like this one he's currently at, Pepper heading it up as official CEO. They're talking about funds allotment and grant money and research projects, the latter the only thing of any real interest to Tony, seeing as he's still the brains behind S.I. R&D and product instigation. Pepper's annoyed. She keeps tucking her hair behind her ear, jiggling her pen, and her smile is tense. None of which Tony would have paid too much attention to, in the past.

The board isn't listening to her. Arguing amongst themselves, quibbling over numbers. Mentally, Tony checks her math. “How about this,” he proposes, dropping his feet off the table and setting aside his Rubik's cube. Tony knows they won't listen to him like that. So he leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced. Smiles sweetly, and does that thing with his eyes that Nat always does to get free guacamole at Chipotle. Rattles off the new number breakdown and smiles, pleased, when they agree. Pepper stares at him, jaw a little slack, and it's only then that he notices that Natasha's standing there, doubling down as Natalie Rushman, to keep the cover alive.

She ghosts up to his side as the meeting ends and people are filtering out. “You're dangerous, Stark.”

He looks at her and beams. “That's the biggest compliment ever.”

“If you weren't so recogniseable,” she murmurs, “I'd recommend you for under cover work. With more training, of course.”

Tony feels on top of the world. “So...can you teach me the Thighs of Death?”

Natasha looks at him, sharply, amused and appalled. “That is _not_ what it's called.”

“But you know what I mean,” Tony wheedles. Presses when she shakes her head. Laughs at her sour expression and then lets it go. One of these days. He may not sleep every night, but he finds that having friends helps. And Tony's pretty sure it helps them both.  


End file.
